Victor laughs, this puff of contradictory sound, obviously at him, at his words, and then his words are directly in contradiction to Yuri's own. While Yuri's head can't figure out how to duck his head, with Victor's face, Victor, still this close, or whether he's embarrassed, and his cheeks are trying to warm more, and he's confused about just how to go about even breathing deeply enough to even breathe and none of it is holding against the rush.
How there is enough blood somewhere else in his body, to be sent up when all his blood feels like it's racing? Again.
And, not, again. Not like this. Not even like that long line of minutes at the end of the bed, singed into his skin. Not dizzy on heat, but, also, the desperate need to just hold on. Falling in. Not letting go. Lost under it, succumbed.
Not that. This time.
Not that he hadn't felt like he was, too. Not lost, but dissolved into it. Certainty giving way to heat and necessity, and Victor, Victor, Victor, and the need to breathe and that to Victor laughing at him. (He loves the sound of Victor's laugh this close. Even at him.) There's something, something not chagrin, perhaps, still a little embarrassed, to realize just what he'd done, what he'd said, or said without saying a word aside from apology. That Victor could read it on him. Hear it.
"No?" First, even as that boldness seems to be diluting in the cool air of the room on his skin, and each breath going a little deeper. Pulls him back, into his skin, into his head, into his self. "Is that--"
But he doesn't have a word for this either. Right. Wrong. Okay. Improper. Hilarious. Shameful. No word fits.
When he means for having apologized, and maybe for not. When he means everything he just did, that he's not sure how to even look right back at, and the way his head and his body come down, but his heart is just sprinting along in his chest, in his veins, not showing any sign of listening to anything else but Victor's laugh, Victor's voice, Victor's face, Victor's hands still on him.
When he doesn't know if some of that was exaggerated, the way Victor's exaggerate his thoughts before forgetting them next. Even then he's not sure if he wants to know yet, wants to think about anything, do anything that isn't staring at Victor.
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Date: 2017-04-21 12:30 pm (UTC)How there is enough blood somewhere else in his body, to be sent up when all his blood feels like it's racing? Again.
And, not, again. Not like this. Not even like that long line of minutes at the end of the bed, singed into his skin.
Not dizzy on heat, but, also, the desperate need to just hold on. Falling in. Not letting go. Lost under it, succumbed.
Not that. This time.
Not that he hadn't felt like he was, too. Not lost, but dissolved into it. Certainty giving way to heat and necessity, and Victor, Victor, Victor, and the need to breathe and that to Victor laughing at him. (He loves the sound of Victor's laugh this close. Even at him.) There's something, something not chagrin, perhaps, still a little embarrassed, to realize just what he'd done, what he'd said, or said without saying a word aside from apology. That Victor could read it on him. Hear it.
"No?" First, even as that boldness seems to be diluting in the cool air of the room on his skin, and each breath going a little deeper. Pulls him back, into his skin, into his head, into his self. "Is that--"
But he doesn't have a word for this either. Right. Wrong. Okay. Improper. Hilarious. Shameful. No word fits.
When he means for having apologized, and maybe for not. When he means everything he just did, that he's not sure how to even look right back at, and the way his head and his body come down, but his heart is just sprinting along in his chest, in his veins, not showing any sign of listening to anything else but Victor's laugh, Victor's voice, Victor's face, Victor's hands still on him.
When he doesn't know if some of that was exaggerated, the way Victor's exaggerate his thoughts before forgetting them next.
Even then he's not sure if he wants to know yet, wants to think about anything, do anything that isn't staring at Victor.